


Remembrance

by wali21



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, close to falling castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:54:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22366744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wali21/pseuds/wali21
Summary: Today is like every other day, until Dean makes a mistake. Now, he lives with the knowledge that he can’t change the past, he can’t escape. When Castiel tags along on a hunt, Dean has to face what he’s become.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Kudos: 16





	Remembrance

**Author's Note:**

> General season 4 and 5 spoilers.
> 
> Beta’d by @sclin2. Thanks love! <3 Originally posted to LJ September 23rd, 2010. 
> 
> Written for this prompt: Castiel is almost human, very near to falling, but he protects Dean during a hunt anyway, like an instinct, and he gets injured. Dean is pissed and tells him he can't just go doing that anymore. I hope you like it kandkl!

Dean sits at the booth in the back of the diner with Sam, lukewarm coffee in a chipped ceramic cup resting on the formica tabletop. The smells of batter and grease come wafting from the kitchen, making Dean’s stomach clench uncomfortably. He isn’t hungry these days.

This place reminds Dean of home. It’s like every other diner he’s been to in his life, growing up on the road with Sammy and Dad, stopping in to the same types of places every morning, coffee and burnt toast staples of them surviving another day to hunt again. The stale taste of coffee lingers on his tongue, twisting his stomach in knots every time he swallows. The smell from the disinfectant smeared across the coarse table doesn’t help to quell the feeling of needed to purge his body. He bites his tongue, willing the bile to stay down. It obeys.

The incessant buzzing of customers all enjoying their daily breakfast grates on Dean’s nerves, the stupid people being loud and gushing about their days. It gives Dean a headache. The aging waitress is loud, popping pink bubblegum between stained teeth, gossiping excitedly with the cook. The muffled noises from outside augments the discordant soundtrack, normal people going about their normal, boring, everyday lives.

Dean twists his fork back and forth, a piece of waffle speared at the end of it. He pretends he’s listening to Sam ramble on and on about their newest possible hunt but he can’t seem to actually focus on what’s being said by his brother. He is preoccupied by thoughts of their last hunt. It hadn’t gone well.

The door of the diner opens and closes, going unnoticed by most of the patrons. Dean subconsciously takes note of the man, not a threat, so he goes back to clinking his fork around the edge of his plate. Sam doesn’t even look up from his laptop. Dean wonders if this is going to be their lives forever, cheap diner food and the newest case looming on the horizon. No breaks. Nothing but fleeting moments of happiness.

“Hello, Dean. Hello, Sam,” a voice greets from next to the table.

Dean startles, looking up at their intruder. He chastises himself for not noticing the guy walking up to their table.

“Cas? What’re you doing here?” Dean asks, dropping the fork. It settles half on the plate, the piece of waffle at the end trailing tiny drops of syrup down the edge of the fork to land on the table.

Castiel stands there, shoulders slumped, tan trenchcoat in disarray. Dean spares a moment to wonder why Castiel isn’t his usual immaculate self before coming to the troubling conclusion that Castiel is there to warn them about their newest hunt. Great, just what they need. More problems.

Sam gets up from the table, saying something that Dean only nods his head to, not really caring at this point. Castiel slides into Sam’s seat, blue eyes locking with Dean’s across the table. They stay there, staring at each other, the air charged with something Dean doesn’t let his mind supply a name to, afraid of what it would mean. He breaks eye contact first; he always seems to when he’s with Cas, the angel’s gaze too intense, too probing. Dean can’t let Cas see what’s going on inside him, not now, probably not ever. Cas already sees too much.

“Dean?” Castiel asks, head tilted at an angle.

Dean is having trouble focusing on Castiel, looking at the angel is harder than he thought it would be after what happened. It’s Dean’s fault though so he just shakes it off, giving Cas his attention. He can’t think of anything to say, just nods his head in what he hopes Cas will understand means that he’s there, listening now.

“I need your help,” Cas states.

“Uh…okay. How’d you find us anyway? I thought we were protected by those thingamabobs you carved into our ribs,” Dean replies.

Cas looks at Dean in confusion.

“I called Sam to ascertain your location,” Castiel answers.

Dean nods, like it’s totally normal that Cas calls Sam instead of him. Not that Dean really gives a damn right now. His mind drifts to the events of the past week, eyes glazing over. He can’t believe what happened, or it’s more that he can and that is really the problem.

“Dean? Dean?” Castiel asks, gently nudging Dean’s shoulder.

“Huh?” Dean replies, snapping back to the diner, back to Cas sitting across from him looking like someone killed his puppy. Dean randomly wonders if angels have pets. He’s zoning out again but he can’t seem to help it, a film shuttering down over his eyes, playing back what happened in perfect, vivid detail.

In some part of Dean’s mind, he notices Sam’s return to the table, sliding in next to Cas. They talk adamantly, probably about the newest case, more likely about how Dean’s dealing with what happened. Dean doesn’t want to focus on their conversation, the waking projections almost too much to bear already, visions of blood dripping steadily down smooth, pale flesh dancing before his eyes, the semblance of peace he once knew gone.

“Cas, did you tell Dean yet?” Sam asks in hushed tones, body turned away from Dean.

Dean picks up on it though. Secrets are something he’s familiar with and Sam keeping them is nothing new. His brotherly instincts kick in, needing to know what’s going on, what danger is following them around now. It never ends. Dean shakes that time and place away, like swatting at a fly, the quiet buzzing too annoying to ignore for long.

“Tell me what?” Dean interrupts, settling his hands on the table. The pool of syrup coats the rough surface of the table, slow rivulets escaping down the uneven, scoured surface to make a home on the cotton and flesh obstructing its way.

Dean watches as Cas shifts in his seat, gestures that he’s only now realizing he’s never seen another angel make, the balance of weight moving back and forth too human for most angels to give in to.

“I…I am losing my angelic powers. I cannot fight nor heal like before. I must restrict myself to human means of transportation,” Castiel barely manages to voice, his deep growl more of a mild tenor.

He did this to Cas, caused him to lose everything that mattered to him. Convinced him to leave his world behind, for Dean, for his own selfish purposes. Dean is poison, the tornado that rips apart everyone’s lives. His actions, inactions, have set the world on a path that can only lead to destruction. He is the one at fault. He is the one that should suffer. Dean gets lost again in his little world, the flashes on a never-ending loop are making his stomach roll and his head ache. With this new information, he can’t escape what happened, can’t push it away like he has been. It’s his fault.

He feels sick, every day, every moment he spends breathing. Nothing tastes good anymore, where once food was reminiscent of comfort or escape; it is now filled with the aftertaste of death and sweet copper stickiness. Dean swallows hard, the suffocating feeling returning, the lining of his throat is raw, used up, skin sheared off, only a thin layer of fragile skin separating blood vessels and the hollow cavity that he needs to breathe. His lungs expand, quickly; his breath whooshing in and out too fast, the air rushing in, leaving a sting like chlorine infused water, the after effect as startlingly unpleasant as the one time he took Sammy swimming, his little brother too excited for his own good. A parody of a smile tugging at his lips, memories such an easy thing to forget about until the right event brings every single unwanted vision back to the surface.

Something changes in that moment inside Dean. The pictures of past events flick across Dean’s internal projector; happy memories of Sam and him, of Dad, of them being a real family superimpose themselves with the horrendous affair of last week. The war between the fear and happiness he’s feeling consumes all his focus, locking him inside his own head, a prisoner tortured by his own actions.

He closes his eyes, letting the memories seep deeper, block out the rest of the world.

Tomorrow he will hunt.

***

The hunt was supposed to be like any other hunt: find bad guy, and keep bad guy from killing them, salt and burn bad guy, and go back to some crappy motel room, a bottle of whiskey clutched in bruised fingers.

But the world likes to fuck with Dean so, of course, it was nothing like that. He can’t even get one goddamn break and have a normal case for once. Of course not.

The nice, easy hunt ended up a nightmare. The creature they thought was slicing people open turned out to be a werewolf instead. It made no sense and went against everything Dean had been taught to look for in werewolf attacks.

Dean wanted to kick himself for not paying enough attention, for not noticing something was off, for getting them into this mess. Hell, Dean wasn’t even supposed to be hunting yet. Not really. It was recon, nice and simple. But the werewolf got the drop on him, Dean too preoccupied by his shifting memories to pay attention to his surroundings. Cas came with him, wanting to be useful now that he couldn’t do much else these days. And, of course, that’s when the creature decided to strike. Dean fights off its first two attacks, yelling at Cas to get back to the car, call Sam and have him get his ass to them ASAP.

Dean doesn’t notice Castiel stepping between him and the werewolf until it’s too late. Doesn’t remember that Cas can’t smite anymore, can’t do anything really, limited by the way he was trained, angelic powers relied on instead of skill and cunning. He doesn’t notice, because he’s too distracted, the damn memories always playing in a hushed, dark place in his mind, screen blank until he gets distracted, letting the switch flip, film unwinding, images spewing forth in bright technicolor.

Dean rushes to get in front of Cas, to at least save him this time, maybe finally repay the debt he owes. But he’s too late. Like always. Couldn’t save Sam. Couldn’t save Dad. Can’t save himself.

All he can do is watch as the creature grabs at Castiel, teeth and claws sinking into thick fabric and soft flesh. Cas lets out a cry that rattles Dean, brings him right back to that moment last week, the slippery, congealing mess, the smell of burning hair and the clink clink clink of unbreakable bonds. Strapped down to the same spot, unable to move, unable to do anything to stop what was happening. It’s exactly like before, Dean unable to escape, unable to break free, his eyes rooted to the scene playing out before him.

The werewolf finally lets go of Castiel, throwing him away, ready to move on to its next victim. Dean doesn’t even care anymore if he’s next. But he can’t help but watch as Cas’ body falls to the ground, the pained moans all he can hear. Castiel is slumped at an unnatural angle, the former angel breathing shallow and rapid, no doubt in Dean’s mind that he doesn’t have long. He ruthlessly shuts down the mental torture, the spool winds to a stop. Dean lets his body take over, lets the rhythm of his training and experience help him finish the creature off.

Dean moves. He will save Cas. He has to.

He shoves at the thing’s body, a succession of quick slices and stabs with Dean’s sliver knife all that it takes to dismantle the werewolf’s head and leave its body humanoid once more. Dean takes great gasps of breath, trying to assuage the fear and adrenaline overtaking his body. He must get to Cas. He will save him.

Dean kicks the werewolf’s body, a childish action but one that calms him down enough that he can focus on the task of getting Cas healed. He rushes over to the vessel lying motionless on the dirt packed road, freezing again when all he can see is what happened last week, blood everywhere. Dean pulls it together, remembering it is Cas dying there on the ground. He crouches down, placing his hands over the worst of the bleeding. The thick liquid rushes through his fingers, staining his hands.

“Damn it, Cas! What the fuck where you thinking?” Dean admonishes, pressing down on the wound, trying to get it to stop bleeding. A part of him hates knowing angels bleed but that other part, the one he hides, even from himself, files the information away, a detail that might be useful in the future. Dean doesn’t want to think about that.

“You can’t…you can’t do shit like that anymore, okay? Shit, can angels be turned? Hey, man no. No. Stay with me,” Dean commands, Castiel’s eyes sliding closed, the pump of his heart too fast. Dean closes his eyes briefly, gathering what little strength he has left, knowing he must fix Cas. That he can.

“Cas? Wake up you son of a bitch!” Dean yells, pounding on Cas’ chest with one hand, stopping at the first brush when Cas opens his eyes, a pained groan escaping barely parted lips.

“No leavin’ ya hear me? You’re not allowed to die, dude. We…fuck!” Dean shouts, the hand not resting on Cas’ chest, checking his pulse to make sure his heart is still pounding in a steady tattoo, cards through his hair, blood and sweat mingling to make it stick up in tufts.

“Just…just stay with me, Cas,” Dean pleads.

“Dean?” Castiel asks, raising his head off the ground.

“Cas! You okay?” Dean asks, even though he knows it’s a stupid question, obviously Cas isn’t okay, hell he might not ever be okay.

“I…I do not believe so. This body is…cold. Why am I cold? Dean…” Cas’ eyes close again, his breathe stuttering.

“Cas? Cas? Goddamn it!” Dean doesn’t know what to do. He could try and fix Castiel’s wounds but that would mean moving him and he doesn’t think that’s a good idea. His only option is calling 911. Dean has no idea how he’ll explain this to the cops but he needs to save Cas.

He pulls out his cell phone, the plastic casing now covered in blood. He dials.

***

Dean wakes up, mouth dry, head pillowed on his arm, back hunched over from sitting in a hospital chair and trying not to fall asleep before Cas woke up. The doctors patched him up, good as new, Sam and Bobby taking care of the cover story and making sure Cas wouldn’t become one of the monsters they have to hunt, but still he hasn’t woken up. Dean is worried. It’s been three days though, so it wasn’t a surprise that Dean had fallen asleep on Cas’ bed. He’s not sure what woke him up, until a movement under his arm catches his attention.

“Dean?” Cas whispers, words barely making it past his lips.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean manages to get out after a small silence.

They stare at each other, no words needed. Cas is safe, healing, and that’s all that matters. Dean did right. He saved Cas. Well technically the doctors did, but that doesn’t matter. No one else died because of him. He tries to smile, to rid the atmosphere of the oppressive air of death and antiseptic. He doesn’t succeed. He can still smell the blood and feel the oozing liquid coating his palms. Dean beats back the feelings, the memories had blessedly stopped while he was waiting for Castiel to wake up, but they are back now, invading his every waking moment.

He scrubs a hand over his face, jerking his hand back, opening his eyes and flinching. Thick red fluid covers his hand, seeping into the lines crisscrossing his palm, the whirls and grooves becoming a grotesque caricature of living, healthy flesh. His lifeline looks cut open, like the blood is swelling from a wound that goes deeper than any blade can reach. Dean grimaces, he knows that a blade can reach a hell of a long way into someone; tries to block that thought from his mind, it’s not something he wants to deal with right now, especially in a room that should be filled with light, with hope and happiness. Too bad Dean feels neither.

He tries to push it all aside, knows he doesn’t completely succeed but saving Cas is too important, repaying him for what he’s done for Dean the only action he needs to focus on. The doctor had mentioned that the healing process wouldn’t be easy, that many people just gave up after sustaining a wound like Cas’. Dean wonders how that information applies to angels. Or whatever Cas is now.  
Dean won’t let him give up though. Cas told him once that he was a warrior and Dean is holding him to that.

“Dean?” Castiel’s voice grates out, throat parched after so many days without proper hydration. Dean moves closer to Castiel, laying a hand on his shoulder. He hopes that his presence helps.

“Yeah, Cas?” Dean responds, giving the shoulder under his palm a squeeze. The blood is gone for now.

“Thank you,” Cas replies, something close to a smile curling cracked lips. He pulls Dean closer, until Dean has no choice but to sit on the bed next to Cas.

“No need to thank me, dude. You would’ve done the same,” Dean says.

They stare at each other, the moments whirling by, blue locked with green. Even with Cas recovering, the intensity that always comes from him sears throughout Dean’s body. It’s a warm, slow burn, closer to the feeling of defrosting in front of a comfy fire after a day spent trudging through slush and snow, than the raging infernos Dean used to be greeted with every day in Hell. It’s pleasant. And so refreshing compared to the torment of the past years.

Some part of Dean wants to punish, rip apart and maim, but he fights it off. Instead, he leans down, barely brushing their lips together. It feels good. The reckless gesture scary but thrilling at the same time.

Finally, the memories quiet, sent back to be filed under all the things Dean doesn’t think about and won’t admit to ever experiencing.

He smiles his first genuine smile in months.


End file.
